


No Good Very Bad First Date

by beenomorph



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, M/M, Thane Krios Lives, i wrote this for myself but y'all can read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenomorph/pseuds/beenomorph
Summary: “You’ll be OK,” Grunt says, and Kolyat groans wordlessly.“I’m gonna barf,” he responds after a moment, voice weak, “Oh gods. I’m making this date shitty.”“Heh, speak for yourself. I’m pretty entertained.”or, the one where Kolyat gets food poisoning.





	No Good Very Bad First Date

Call him old fashioned, but visiting a dingy, hole-in-the-wall bar wasn’t Kolyat’s ideal first date. Considering the circumstances, though, he was willing to let it slide.

The circumstances were as such:

Firstly, Kolyat was feeling in a particular mood for celebration- yes, he was bone-tired from the past few weeks of travel and colony survey, but he was ultimately allured by the idea of winding down with drinking.

Secondly, he had been invited here—somewhere with good drinks at reasonable prices, without the noise and crowds of somewhere like Purgatory— which seemed to be the perfect place to wind down from the excursion.

Finally, the person who invited him happened to be a one Urdnot Grunt, who he found extraordinarily handsome, and who he’d been reasonably sure had been flirting with him throughout their entire expedition.

So, why the hell not?

The past half-decade of his colony planning was finally coming to a head, and his return to the Citadel after their final survey of their colony site marked an end of the hypothetical stages of development. With groundwork construction nearing completion, he and the first wave of colonists were finally approved to start settling.

The Council had, after a surprisingly short amount of time, cleared the finalized colony development plans, and the team had been provided with various mechanical resources to help speed up the initial setup, which was a huge help for maintaining budget. He’d stopped questioning the mysterious resources and blindingly fast legislative turnaround long time ago—Thane had all but told Kolyat, in his own roundabout way, that he’d be pulling what strings he had to help colony development run smoothly.

It didn’t make it any less shocking, however, to receive correspondence from Quarian admirals and Turian primarchs, and getting a supply drop near the colony site ‘ _courtesy of the Shadow Broker’_ nearly gave him a heart attack. And then, of course, there was the Aralakh fireteam the chief of the Krogan clans assigned to defend the scouting parties on expeditions to the then-uncharted world.

As Kolyat swirled his drink around in his glass, his mind lazily brought forth a memory from just a few hours ago, as if checking its authenticity—a memorial pinch to the arm, to make sure the current scenario was really happening.

_“I was thinking of grabbing a drink at this bar on the lower wards after we dock,” Grunt said, ducking through the doorway of the crew quarters, watching with idle amusement as Kolyat unceremoniously shoved spare clothes back in his bag, “You wanna come?”_

_Kolyat paused, bag in one hand and shirt in the other, brain turning over the question. “I don’t know,” he said, turning to face Grunt just in time to catch the tail-end of an expression he thought was disappointment, “It’s just,” he amended quickly, “I don’t know if I have the energy for drinks with the crew, you know?”_

_Grunt shrugged, and for the first time since they’d met Kolyat read uncertainty on his features. “I was kinda thinking it’d just be you and me.”_

And so, here he was- swinging his legs idly beneath him as he sat at a too-tall chair, taking a slow sip of his second drink of the night. He was about halfway through, and feeling uncharacteristically affected- Kolyat was no stranger to alcohol, but he’d never been drinking with a Krogan before. He supposed it was to be expected that the drinks would be stronger anywhere Grunt would frequent.

The bar was a small one, the lights were dim and faintly orange, a hit from last year playing over tinny speakers. It was... charming, he’d say- rough around the edges for sure, but there was a certain appeal. It was very _Grunt,_ overall, which Kolyat thinks is part of why he found it so endearing.

Across from him, Grunt sipped his ryncol, and Kolyat took a moment to compare the Krogan before him to the one he’d met all those years ago.

He supposed that ‘ _met’_ was a generous way to describe their first encounter—he’d been punched in the face, hard, shaking hands fumbling with the gun they once held securely. There was crying, and yelling, and his eye was swelling up, and Kolyat’s mind still took the time to make note of the unusually large Krogan amongst the audience of strangers watching his not-so-heartwarming reunion with his father.

He was young, if the pebbly texture of his head crest had anything to do with it, but still larger than most Krogan Kolyat had ever met before. Now, well into his adulthood, slate-grey crest tall and spiked, he was absolutely _mountainous._ Kolyat remembers seeing him addressing his fireteam before they’d touched ground during the expedition, remembers thinking that he could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen a Krogan have to look up to talk to someone.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” Grunt grumbled, voice good-humored, and Kolyat felt the skin of his frill flush at the realization of his staring. He took a moment to regain his composure, hiding his face behind a slow sip of his drink, before responding.

“Nothing other than that smug grin, no.” Kolyat recovered, tone wry, “But. I was just… thinking, I guess. You’re a very different Krogan than the one I met all those years ago.”

“Could say the same for you,” Grunt countered, and Kolyat shook his head.

“Oh, that’s not fair. I was…” he shrugged, looking down at his drink, “Not myself, then. Then again, there’s something about surviving the end of days that makes you want to clean up your act, yeah?” Grunt laughed, then shrugged.

“Heh. I don’t get that one as much. It’s what I was born into, remember?”

Oh, yeah. Grunt was tank-bred, right. Born fully grown into a world at the precipice of war. The knowledge of that made Kolyat uncomfortable, at first- chronologically speaking, Grunt was a fraction of his age, and it took Kolyat a moment to get over that moral dilemma. Oriana had assured him, though, when he brought it up to her, that Grunt was by no means a child- a bit naïve at times, sure, but a competent, capable adult.

“Of course,” Kolyat hummed, tapping a finger against his temple. He paused before continuing, “I just brought it up because I’m… curious about the kind of work Aralakh did, you know, after the restoration and cleanup projects.” Grunt snorted,

“I won’t lie to you, Krios, it was a stretch of pretty boring years. I mean, we were doing… Good work, I guess, a lot of expansion and cleanup on Tuchanka. A lot of the same kind of work we did with your expedition- clearing the way for colony sites on and offworld. But, I mean, not a lot of combat, not a lot of excitement. Boring, like I said.” Grunt paused, gaze distant as he sifted through his memories, “Then... Uh, Miranda got in contact. You’ve met her, right?” Kolyat nodded, and Grunt continued. “Me, her, and Jack—we wound up getting kinda close after the war, I guess. Anyways, says she wants some help to clear out some leftover Cerberus splinters, so I ended up traveling with them for a while doing that.”

“That’s how you met Oriana, I guess?” Kolyat said, idly swishing his drink around in its glass once more, a slightly drunken fuzziness filling his head.

“Yup,” he confirmed, and Kolyat figured the monosyllabic answer was only fair, considering the uncharacteristic amount he’d spoken so far. A silence drifted between them, though not an uncomfortable one- beneath the table, Kolyat tapped his foot to the rhythm of the song playing on the speakers, taking a moment to people watch amongst the other bar patrons.

“How did,” Grunt asked, shifting a bit in his seat, “How did the two of you meet?”

“Hm?” Kolyat frowned, brain lagging a bit on the question, “Oh, me and Oriana? In school, actually. We both wound up taking classes here on the Citadel for… Yeah, for colony development. That’s how we started working together on the, uh, on the drell colony project.”

“Hm,” Grunt said, chair squeaking in protest as he leaned back. “I would have never pegged you for colony development.”

“Yeah, _‘political assassin_ ’ and _‘colony overseer’_ aren’t really in the same league, are they?” Kolyat said dryly, ignoring the look a Turian in a neighboring booth shot him in favor of smirking in response to Grunt’s rumbled chuckle.

“Your words,” Grunt hummed, and Kolyat shrugged.

“You were thinking it,” he said, and Grunt offered no protest. “It’s just... I really started to think about the Compact. It sometimes felt like… Shit, like I could trace so much of the drama in my family back to it- back to the Hanar, you now, and there’s so many old-fashioned Drell that, just... can’t see how much it...” he gestured vaguely for a moment, searching for the right word before sighing, “How much it _sucks._ And how many families were like mine and got fucked over by it. So, I thought, an independently governed Drell colony would... be a _start_. A fresh start for the Drell. _”_ Grunt snorted into his glass as he took a drink,

“You sound like Wrex,” he said, and his snort turned into a laugh when Kolyat sputtered, expression aghast, “Don’t look _too_ flattered, Krios.”

“ _Kolyat_ ,” he corrected, for perhaps the thousandth time since they’d met, wrinkling his nose as he contemplated how well the alcohol would pair with the butterflies fluttering about in his stomach at Grunt’s laughter, “Krios is… Too formal.”

“Don’t look so flattered, _Kolyat.”_ he amended, rolling his eyes, “I do mean it, though. The same kind of big ideas, hope for your people stuff. It’s nice.” he paused, “It took Wrex less than five years to change the course of Krogan history. If that old dinosaur can do it, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

In another moment, Kolyat probably would have been very flattered by the vote of confidence. He might have even been cognizant enough to thank Grunt for the kind words, or say something kind in return, or take the opportunity to fish for more flirtatious banter. Currently, however, his brow was furrowed as he focused intently on the middle distance, blinking rapidly as he tried to identify the feeling making itself a home in his stomach, because he was pretty sure it wasn’t butterflies.

See, Kolyat was no stranger to alcohol. In fact, he sometimes wished he was less acquainted with it than he really was. But in this moment, he was grateful, because he knew something was definitely off. He probably should have caught it sooner, but by now, the vertigo was hitting him like a truck, and he set the offending drink down.

“Grunt,” Kolyat said, as clearly as he could muster despite the very rapid progression of his very sudden nausea, “There is something wrong with my drink.” The shift in Grunt’s expression was so immediate that it nearly gave Kolyat whiplash, and he did startle a bit when Grunt reached across the table to grab the offending glass and give it a sniff.

“Ah, shit. I should’ve caught this sooner,” Grunt muttered, halfway to himself. He shifts his attention to Kolyat, then, “No one slipped you anything- at least, not on purpose. Just cross contamination. Smells like ryncol,”

Cross contamination. Yes. Kolyat knows what that is. He remembered- though the memory comes sluggishly- Oriana accidentally drinking some dextro wine at a bar once. She threw up for hours. They had to go to the hospital. She needed an antihistamine shot, or something like that. Kolyat doesn’t want to go to the hospital to get an antihistamine shot.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he says, and Grunt laughs, shaking his head.

“You don’t need to go to the _hospital_ ,” Grunt says, hefting himself out of his own chair and moving to help coax Kolyat from his, “You just need to go home. There’s a shuttle lift outside.” Kolyat leans heavily into Grunt as he slides out of his chair- in part because the action makes him light-headed and upsets his stomach even further, and in part because Grunt is very large, and warm, and what impulse control he has is pretty far gone. Grunt, blessedly, is patient with him as they make their slow way to the door.

“Hey- _hey!_ Are you gonna pay your tab or what, man?” the bartender calls out, and Grunt growls in frustration.

“Try not poisoning my date next time, and we’ll see.” he calls over his shoulder, and it isn’t until the door slides closed behind them and they’ve punched Kolyat’s apartment address into the transit shuttle that the reality of Grunt’s last sentence struck him, and he laughs.

“What?” Grunt says, regarding him with an expression perched somewhere between amusement and concern as Kolyat struggles to get comfortable in the skycar despite his body’s protest. He feels a headache coming, a distinct pressure right behind his eyes, and wonders distantly if wishful thinking is enough to keep it from getting worse.

“So, I’m your _date_?” Kolyat responds, the slur in his voice making him sound a lot less like a professional colony developer in his mid-thirties and more like a child, tickled to death at the way Grunt shuffled awkwardly in response.

“Well,” he counters, “Are you?” 

That sends Kolyat laughing again, “ _Well,”_ he parrots Grunt, “I did get food poisoning, didn’t I?” He leans into Grunt’s side again, looking up at him and squinting happily. He’s then struck very suddenly by a memory of Oriana’s confusion over the same expression, and tried swapping it out for a smile, but the sky car shifted altitude and his stomach shifted with it.

“Don’t puke on me,” Grunt said, the concern on his face not present at all in his voice as he put his hand over Kolyat’s face.

“There go my evening plans,” Kolyat responds, weakly head-butting Grunt’s hand. Grunt chuckled in that way of his, pushing gently against Kolyat’s affront, and Kolyat hated the way the fluttering in his stomach from the interaction only worsened his nausea. “Be, uh. Be honest. This is a… Kind of a mess of a first date.”

Grunt shrugged with one shoulder, “I wouldn’t know.”

Kolyat frowned, blinking in surprise. “…You wouldn’t know?” When Grunt shrugged again, a noise approaching bashful rumbling from his chest, Kolyat blanched. “Oh no. Oh fuck, Grunt, this is your _first_ date? Oh no. This isn’t…” Kolyat paused, searching for the right way to say what he wanted to say, eyes squeezing shut.

“This isn’t,” he continued, scrunching his face in a frown from where it was still pressed against Grunt’s hand, “This really isn’t how I wanted to get you back to my apartment.”

There was a pause between them as Kolyat’s brain caught up with his mouth, and his eyes snapped open.

“Oh?” Grunt chuckled, tone light, even as Kolyat jerked away from his hand as if it was on fire.

“That’s!” He started, waving his hands, “Not! That’s _not_ ,” he continued, eloquent as usual. “What I meant. I mean, I, not to say you aren’t—or, wait, not to say that I _don’t_ want—or, no, that’s not—” and his stomach lurched again, and his face was hot, and his frill was doing that stupid _thing_ that it does when he gets flustered where it wants to puff up even though he wants to shrink down to the smallest possible version of himself.

“Oh, my gods,” he groans, leaning forward to rest his forehead on his knees. Grunt chuckled again, amused by Kolyat’s distress, resting one hand on his back.

“You’ll be OK,” Grunt says, and Kolyat groans wordlessly.

“I’m gonna barf,” he responds after a moment, voice weak, “Oh gods. I’m making this date shitty.”

“Heh, speak for yourself. I’m pretty entertained.”

“Ugh,” Kolyat responded, currently unable to come up with a better retort. Grunt shifted in his seat, rubbing the hand resting on Kolyat’s back in small, slow circles. Kolyat made a quiet rumble of appreciation from deep in his chest. He stayed silent for a moment longer, focusing on keeping his stomach from upturning as the skycar came to a halt, and Grunt finally spoke up again.

“Which one’s yours?”

Kolyat groaned, uncooperatively. Grunt tapped his back, and he groaned again.

“Kr—Kolyat. You can’t sleep in the cab.”

“Upstairs,” Kolyat gritted out, “Second floor. First door on the right.”

Grunt hummed an affirmative, and exited the skycar. He went around to Kolyat’s side, propping the door open. After a moment of unsuccessfully trying to coax Kolyat from the car, Grunt huffed in frustration, and decided to just reach into the car and heft the Drell from his seat.

It wasn’t even really _hefting,_ as it seemed effortless on Grunt’s part. Kolyat made another uncooperative noise, mood having shifted as suddenly as his stomach, face twisted in a frown as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Do I even,” he managed, burying his face in Grunt’s shoulder as he tried to ignore the vertigo rolling over him, arms wrapping around Grunt’s neck, “Do I even weigh anything to you?”

Grunt hummed, “Not really.” Kolyat responded with dry laughter, instinctively pushing his face into the warmth of Grunt’s neck. A drunken sleepiness overtook him, momently overpowering his nausea, and he sighed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, quiet enough that Grunt would have had to strain to hear.

“For?” Grunt responded, and Kolyat frowned anew, unsure how to respond.

“Uh,” he started, “For making this date shitty.” Grunt snorted.

“It’s not shitty,” he said, “And, I mean... I’m the one who bought you a bad drink.”

“You...You, uh, didn’t pay. For the drink. Which _was_ pretty good, until it. Decided not to be.”

“Heh heh,” Grunt conceded with a chuckle, “Yeah. This one yours?”

Kolyat turned his head, daring to crack an eye open. The overhead lights were dim, simulating evening, and Kolyat was relieved. The headache blooming behind his eyes probably wouldn’t have agreed with the harsh light of simulated daytime.

“Yes,” Kolyat said, shifting in Grunt’s hold to get at his omni-tool. The motion was sudden, and Grunt’s grip was lax enough that his twisting about was enough to send him almost tumbling from the Krogan’s arms. Grunt’s reflexes were quick, though, his grip tightening around Kolyat’s middle, and Kolyat was winded. Not so much from the vertigo brought on by the scuffle- moreso by the feeling of those big, stupid muscular arms tight around him. He wouldn’t admit to the weird, undignified snort he made in response.

“You good?” Grunt responded, oblivious as ever, and Kolyat didn’t respond in favor of unlocking and opening the door with the interface on his omni-tool.

“You... Should put me down,” Kolyat said, kicking his legs. “Like, here, like right now.”

“Can you even-”

“I’m going to vomit,” he announced, and Grunt didn’t hesitate to ease him down to the ground at that. He did stumble, at first, but his momentum led him forward rather than down, through the entry hallway and to the kitchenette attached to the main room. There was no way he would make it to the bathroom when his stomach was demanding his attention _right now._

Distantly, as his throat burned from coughing up the ryncol-tainted drink his stomach rejected into his empty sink, Kolyat thanked his past self for taking the time to actually wash the dishes for once. He leaned against the sink, closing his eyes, turning on the cool water as he gave a shaky sigh. The relief was instant, but he knew from experience it’d only be brief- he kicked off his shoes by the sink, giving his face a few quick splashes of water as he turned around, exhaustion settling in his bones.

“Thanks, Grunt,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, lightly pressing his fingers into his closed eyelids, “I can, uh. I… Let’s try this date thing again, when I’m not—"

His words died in throat when he opened his eyes. He had assumed Grunt had followed him down the hallway- he heard someone behind him, and didn’t think anyone else would be in his apartment. But, of course, fate _loved_ to be cruel.

“Date?” Thane asked, eyebrow ridge raised, leaning against the white handle of his cane as he tilted his head to the side. “ _Grunt?”_

“What the fuck,” Kolyat said, voice barely above a whisper, “ _Thane?”_

It was at that moment that Grunt decided to peek his head around the end of the entryway, blue eyes glinting in the dim light, “Hey, are you— _oh.”_

Kolyat was too drunk for this. _Yes,_ he’d only had one and a half drinks, but they were contaminated, and his head was fuzzy and his stomach was doing stressful flops that made him think he was going to throw up again. His gaze shifted between his father, with that carefully neutral expression, to his date, who was looking helplessly between the two of them as well. A tense silence drifted between the three of them- each waiting for some kind of explanation from the other party- and the longer it stretched, the hotter Kolyat felt his face getting.

“Kolyat,” Thane started, right as the drell in question turned to retch once more into the sink. Thane and Grunt both took identical half-steps forward, raising an arm to assist, but shuffled to an awkward stop as they saw the other mirroring the action. Kolyat let the cool stream of water run over his face, kind of wishing he would spontaneously drop dead. When he finally rose again, both Thane and Grunt were behind him, shuffling awkwardly in place- Thane straightened his posture, opening his mouth to speak before Kolyat interrupted with a wave of his hand.

“Thane,” he said, voice raw, “Why are you in my apartment.”

“You were supposed to be back from your expedition today,” Thane said, simply, shifting his weight as he stood, “I arrived after your shuttle was supposed to dock, with the intention of… surprising you. When you didn’t return on time, I was, ah, worried.” Thane turned his head a fraction towards Grunt, “I wasn’t aware you had a _date._ ”

“Yeah, I know, it’s because I didn’t think you’d—” Kolyat cut himself off, then, pinching the bridge of his nose again. Some venomous part of his mind wanted to snap that it was a few years too late for Thane to fuss over his dating life, but instead he just sighed. “Listen. I’m not…”

“It wasn’t exactly planned, Krios.” Grunt said, with a shrug, “And. This wasn’t planned either,” he finished.

“Ah. Yes, _this._ ” Thane said, voice annoyingly neutral- Kolyat knew he was just concerned, but it still _grated_. “May I ask what happened?”

“You can ask,” Kolyat said, “Tomorrow. I need to sleep this off. I’ll call you,” he gestured vaguely, and Thane furrowed his brow in worry.

“Kolyat,” he started, concern spilling over his aged features, “If you’re sick, you should—”

“I’m _fine_ , Thane.” He said, then winced at how harsh it sounded, sighing before he tried again, softer. “Don’t worry about it, dad. Come back tomorrow morning.”

Thane nodded, giving Kolyat a final once-over before his gaze shifted over to Grunt. “Do you need transport to where you’re staying for the night?” he offered, very pointedly, and Kolyat rolled his eyes so hard it made him dizzy.

“ _Thane,_ ” Kolyat repeated, exasperated, and his father conceded, expression tinted with mischief. He bowed his head politely before he made his retreat. Kolyat waited until he heard Thane leave, then waited a little more, before deflating against the counter.

“You OK?” Grunt asked, voice far softer than Kolyat was used to.

“I will be tomorrow,” Kolyat said, scrubbing a hand down his face. He turned, grabbing a glass from the cabinet beside the sink and filling it with water.

“I… You can stay, if you want,” he started, taking a slow drink, but then backtracked when he saw Grunt’s dubious expression. “I mean, I can take the couch. It’s late.” Grunt scratched the back of his neck, quietly contemplating.

“I can sleep out here,” he said, after a moment, “You’re sick. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch.”

Kolyat smiled sheepishly. “Alright, deal.” He paused to take another drink of his water, thinking that probably water never tasted as good as it did in this moment, “Let’s… Try this again. This date. I’m better company when I’m not… Like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “Let me take you on a first date that’s actually… Uh, that’s not shitty.”

Grunt laughs, then, leaning forward in a way that shrunk the space between them immensely in Kolyat’s tiny kitchenette. Despite the water he was drinking, Kolyat’s mouth felt suddenly dry.

“I’ll take you up on that.” He said. Kolyat took another sip of his water, then lowered it before he lost the nerve.

“You’d better,” he said, tilting his head to the side and craning his head upwards to press a soft kiss to Grunt’s cheek. Grunt backed up at that, eyes blown wide with shock for a moment before making way for a wide, dopey grin.

“It wasn’t as shitty as you keep saying, Kolyat.” He said, and Kolyat grinned back.

Maybe Grunt was right.

**Author's Note:**

> a spiritual prequel to this comic I drew a while back [ https://beenomorph.tumblr.com/post/182099308978 ], this fic takes place in a post-canon "happy ending" au where Kolyat has gone into colony development, and meets Grunt during a survey expedition. [ https://beenomorph.tumblr.com/post/182503838813 ]
> 
> This is actually a part of a larger fic/series I have planned, but since I finished this one up first i thought I'd go ahead and post it! :o) enjoy


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